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NicolettePoems
I forgot to stop by the post again But the kitchen is already burning. The walls are aging in bursts of thick black wrinkles That roll Like the unsteady jiggle of jumping baby legs. They are begging for steady wrists. And kiss. The pinch And **** routine Of freshly minted aunties. You see, I couldn't find an envelope anywhere. So this foil gone have to do. This aluminum ain't no ruse. Ain't no poetic device Manifested in the silver breasted Flesh. I swear I had this whole thing planned out differently.   Me, a gray storm of locs Running beneath morning's chin, Wishing you safe travels From the boat of her collar bone. You, a memory tucked Inside my favorite tooth. The two of us, A tuft of life only separated By a mountain Called Heaven. I had planned on helping you climb   This one day. But the kitchen is already burning. Tomorrow, that journalist you look up to Will write About how another one of our daughters Painted herself visible. And she gone wonder why. In this foil, rests my skin. You give this to her. Here, X marks the spot. Tell her that if this skin Is such a gem worth fighting for, She can keep it.
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Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
Treasure Map Drawn in a Burning House
I forgot to stop by the post again But the kitchen is already burning. The walls are aging in bursts of thick black wrinkles That roll Like the unsteady jiggle of jumping baby legs. They are begging for steady wrists. And kiss. The pinch And **** routine Of freshly minted aunties. You see, I couldn't find an envelope anywhere. So this foil gone have to do. This aluminum ain't no ruse. Ain't no poetic device Manifested in the silver breasted Flesh. I swear I had this whole thing planned out differently.   Me, a gray storm of locs Running beneath morning's chin, Wishing you safe travels From the boat of her collar bone. You, a memory tucked Inside my favorite tooth. The two of us, A tuft of life only separated By a mountain Called Heaven. I had planned on helping you climb   This one day. But the kitchen is already burning. Tomorrow, that journalist you look up to Will write About how another one of our daughters Painted herself visible. And she gone wonder why. In this foil, rests my skin. You give this to her. Here, X marks the spot. Tell her that if this skin Is such a gem worth fighting for, She can keep it.
Nicolette
Written by
Nicolette
American
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
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